


Trial of Will

by antheiasilva



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: "it's all my fault" Obi-Wan, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attachment, Dooku being an ass, Family Feels, Gen, Jedi Code, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan snuggles, lineage feels, protective Qui-Gon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva
Summary: On a mission with Dooku, senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi must endure a mortal test to prove his innocence.  With an essential treaty at stake, and his own former master breathing the Code down his neck, what will Qui-Gon risk to save his beloved padawan from a painful death?--“Where is he?” Qui-Gon growled, as he strode down the transport’s creaky ramp, cloak billowing behind him.“Calm yourself, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said sternly, with an air of disdain. “Padawan Kenobi is meditating in his rooms in the guest pavilion. The prime minister has assured me that he won’t be harmed.”“Won’t be harmed? They’ve accused him of a crime that is punishable by death?” It was all he could do to not yell at Dooku outright. Qui-Gon was fuming. He knew he never should have let Obi-Wan assist on Dooku’s mission to Laigen......





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is on hiatus.
> 
>  
> 
> I totally made up this planet with inspiration from ancient and medieval Ireland, and sprinkled in bits from the Star Wars universe.

“Where is he?” Qui-Gon growled as he strode down the transport’s creaky ramp, cloak billowing behind him.

“Calm yourself, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said sternly, with an air of disdain. “Padawan Kenobi is meditating in his rooms in the guest pavilion. The prime minister has assured me that he won’t be harmed.”

“Won’t be harmed? They’ve accused him of a crime that is punishable by _death_?” It was all he could do to not yell at Dooku outright. Qui-Gon was fuming. He knew he never should have let Obi-Wan assist on Dooku’s mission to Laigen. The planet was a volatile hotbed of superstition and archaic customs. _Clearly_ not ready to join the Republic, no matter how rich their plasma mines, or how promising their xoorzi population.

“Not death, the _chance_ of death,” Dooku replied, gesturing with an open hand for Qui-Gon to follow him out of the palace hangar. Dooku’s tone was calm and measured. It was infuriating. Qui-Gon wanted to shake him.

“The chance? What in the Sith-damned galaxy is _that_ supposed to mean?” he spat, clenching his fists at his sides and setting out after Dooku, his long strides easily matching the older man’s. Qui-Gon was only peripherally aware of the other ships and ground crews. 

“It seems,” Dooku explained as they walked, “Padawan Kenobi has committed the crime of _cuil_ which roughly translates as ‘impropriety offending the immortal gods.’ Naturally, only the immortal gods can judge him and thus he must pass a test of _enncae_ , purity or innocence.” 

With slightly more force than necessary, Qui-Gon clapped his hand on Dooku’s shoulder, halting him. “What. Test.”

“Poison,” Dooku responded, rolling his shoulder out from Qui-Gon’s grasp and brushing invisible debris from his tunics.

“Poison?!”

“Yes, Qui-Gon, poison,” Dooku replied, annoyed, still smoothing the rumpled cloth. His piercing look said, “you are out of line” and his pointed exhale conveyed his impatience at having to repeat himself. 

Qui-Gon stared back, undaunted. He was _too old_ for Dooku’s intimidation tactics. 

“Well, poison in a manner of speaking,” Dooku continued, after a moment. He resumed walking. “He has to eat of the _iasc fir_ , the truth fish, which is rather like the Telosian blutig. In fact they may be related. I should ask Master Nu— ”

“I don’t care about its taxonomy _Master_. I care about its death rate. How fatal?”

“Well, no one knows what the rates are like for Jedi, of course,” Dooku replied, as they arrived at a large ornate door that lead out of the hangar.

“How. Fatal. Dooku,” he ground out between gritted teeth. 

“About fifty percent,” Dooku answered, voice placid, as if he were describing the number of senators who drank caff, or the success rate of venture capital initiatives. 

Qui-Gon felt the ground sway underneath him. His vision blurred and the knot that had been tying up his gut for the last sixty-seven hours in hyperspace rapidly expanded to claim his heart and lungs. He closed his eyes, fighting for breath.

Fifty percent. There was a one in two chance that Obi-Wan would be dead in days if they went through with this Force-forsaken test. He drew liberally on the Force to bolster his control. He wasn’t going to _faint_ , in front of Dooku no less. He was stronger than that, and he and Obi-Wan had beat worse odds. He took a deep breath, and pushed himself to release his fear into the Force. It helped, a little, but the tremor inside him wasn’t going to settle until Obi-Wan was safe and they were well on their way off this kriffing planet.

Dooku was holding the manual door open for him and staring at him with a sour expression on his face. “Are you quite alright, Padawan?” Dooku said archly. 

_There is peace._ Qui-Gon thought angrily to himself, quelling a flare of something very close to hatred. He exhaled slowly.

“Yes, Master. I must be queasy after the long flight.” He forced himself to move forward and press his hand to the heavy wood door. He was grateful for the pressure and grainy texture, pulling him into the here and now.

“Hmmmm,” Dooku intoned, looking him up and down with an evaluating eyebrow. “Of course. No doubt your pallor and unsteadiness are the result of space travel, because a Jedi Master would not be so _affected_ by the routine perils of our sworn duty, even when they place his padawan in jeopardy, as is so often the case.”

Qui-Gon managed to grunt in assent. He couldn’t trust his voice. He followed Dooku through the door into the lush open-air portico that connected the hangar to the palace. To their right rose a golden wall etched with floral designs, and to their left, a series of stone columns opened onto an indoor garden and reflecting pool. 

“I don’t need to give you a refresher on attachment, do I, Padawan?,” Dooku asked as they headed down the corridor. “I would hate to think you’ve become _inappropriately_ attached to Kenobi. He may be a fine apprentice and from what I’ve seen, he will make an excellent Jedi, but—”

“But what?” Qui-Gon interjected, irritated.

“Padawans die, Qui-Gon. That is the reality of the Order. Padawans die, Knights die, Masters die. To think otherwise is folly. And to try to control past what is in our power, to interfere with the will of the Force… Well. You of all people know where that leads.”

Qui-Gon stopped in his tracks. Steady. Steady. Steady. Release. Breathe. _We won’t get to the pavilion,_ he thought to himself. _I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill my heartless ass of a master before I even see Obi-Wan. And then we’ll never get out of here._ He swallowed his semi-murderous rage at Dooku—not for the first time in his life, nor even the first time in the last decade—drew himself up to his full height, wrapped the Force around him like a mantle, and said coldly:

“It is not the _will of the Force_ that Obi-Wan die for something so trivial.”

“Oh? Does the great Qui-Gon Jinn claim to know the will of the Force now?” The sarcasm in Dooku’s voice was sharp as a whip-crack, and the young part of him that would always be Dooku's apprentice snapped to attention. He resisted the urge to bow his head in conditioned obedience.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and felt through the Force for a sense of Obi-Wan. He couldn’t risk lowering his shields or speaking through their bond because he wanted to spare Obi-Wan his still-roiling emotions. But even the slightest sense of his padawan would ground him, remind him of his focus, his priority. Nothing mattered but getting Obi-Wan home safe. Nothing. He could endure Dooku’s criticism and sarcasm and coldness. For Obi-Wan.

There. A bright spark of warmth. Not too far. He would see him soon. They would find a way. They always did. 

He took another deep breath and swallowed his retort. 

“That’s better,” Dooku said with more than a hint of condescension. “I had hoped you had developed greater control over the years, but I see my severity is still necessary at times. Your padawan’s equanimity is quite admirable. He must have a natural gift.”

Calm. Peace.

“He is a credit to the order and I will not let him be killed for _propriety_ ,” Qui-Gon stated, disgust twisting his last word.

“The stakes of Laigen’s entry to the Republic are not to be trifled with, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said, eyes flashing. “And you don't even know what he did!”

“I don't need to. I know Obi-Wan. He would never—”

“Never what? Disobey his Master because of his own conscience?”

Qui-Gon winced at the reference to Melida/Daan. Dooku knew exactly how to get to him. He took another deep breath and stared into the greenery beyond the columns. The ferns drooped lazily in the afternoon sun. A faint hum of insects and murmur of water drifted through the quiet.

“What happened?” he asked after a moment.

“He touched the prince.”

“I don’t understand,” Qui-Gon said, blinking. 

“The prince's body is inviolate. He is their ‘immortal’ conduit to the gods and cannot be touched by mortals.”

“I see.” Qui-Gon paused, tightening his reins on his impatience. “And how did Obi-Wan come to touch him?”

Dooku sighed. “There is a custom here where the youths compete in athletic games. Naturally, several of the young warriors wanted to test their prowess against a Jedi. Obi-Wan was invited to participate.”

“And he accepted?”

“Yes, he felt — we _both_ felt— that it was important for diplomatic relations that he take part in their customs.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He had done similar things in the past.

“Obi-Wan was cautious, as he always is. He acquitted himself honourably, but not so outstanding as to offend the Laigen youth.”

“And the prince was competing in these contests?”

“Yes.”

“With the injunction that he not be touched by a ‘mortal’?” Qui-Gon asked, brows furrowed. 

“Most of the contests are feats of strength or agility — not sparring. Races, throwing boulders or tree trunks, taming and riding a wild nerf, that sort of thing.”

“Okay. And?” He tried to dispel his rising impatience. _Calm. Peace._

“Unfortunately, the prince lost control of his nerf, and got tangled in his rope. He was in danger of being trampled…”

 _Of course. Oh, Obi-Wan._ Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I see,” he said wearily, shoulders drooping.

“Obi-Wan saved his life.”

Qui-Gon shook his head in disbelief. “And they want to kill him for it?”

“Not kill him, _test him_. He interfered, broke a sacred law.”

“Saved a life.”

“That belonged to the gods, at least, that’s how they see it. Now their ‘gods’ must decide his fate.”

Qui-Gon shivered. “This is barbaric,” he breathed.

Dooki arched his eyebrow at Qui-Gon. “You will respect their culture, _Padawan._ ”

“To their faces, yes. But—”

“Enough. Barbaric or not, Obi-Wan's life hangs in the balance, as does the willingness of the Laigen to join the Republic.”

Qui-Gon's brows shot up. “Indeed?” Force, not another complication.

“Such blatant disregard for their customs and offence against the gods has, understandably, given them some misgivings.”

Qui-Gon sighed again. “What does the prince say?”

“He is praying for forgiveness and mercy from the gods for Obi-Wan's sake. He understands Obi-Wan acted out of instinct, and goodwill.”

“But he cannot pardon him?”

“No. In fact, the test itself is already something of a pardon. If it weren’t for Obi-Wan’s good intentions, he would have been put to death immediately.”

“This is absurd,” Qui-Gon glowered.

“I'm inclined to agree. However, as the Republic's representatives, we have no choice but to conduct ourselves _appropriately_ ,” Dooku cautioned sharply. “I shouldn’t need to remind you that the alazhi crop on Thyferra is weak this cycle. We need access to the xoorzi fungus on this planet to produce more. A bacta shortage is the last thing the Republic needs right now.”

He resented Dooku’s insinuation that he would act unprofessionally or jeopardize the mission, even as he knew in his gut that Dooku was not wrong. He was not above bending rules at the best of times, and now with Obi-Wan’s life at stake… “I will not endanger Obi-Wan further,” Qui-Gon vowed, bristling at the censure in Dooku’s voice.

“Nor do anything to threaten the treaty. No matter the outcome,” Dooku said gravely. “I will pack you off to the Coruscant in a heartbeat, if you so much as breathe in the wrong direction. And Master Yoda will see you shipped off to Ilum and Obi-Wan reassigned to another master, provided, of course, that he survives this ordeal.”

Qui-Gon snorted in annoyance. He’d like to see Dooku _try_. “If the Laigen give you the chance, my master. Who knows, breathing in the wrong direction may invite trial by asphyxiation or disemboweling.”

Dooku rolled his eyes. “I see where Obi-Wan's ill-timed humour comes from,” he answered with an aggrieved sniff. He turned. “Come. He hasn't admitted it, of course, but I know he is eager to see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Italics and context denote conversation though the Master-Padawan training bond.

Qui-Gon found himself holding his breath as they entered the guest suite. He could feel his padawan’s presence in the Force, like a ripple of cool water. If Obi-Wan was feeling anxious, he was hiding it well, but Qui-Gon sent a wave of reassurance and care along their training bond anyway. 

Obi-Wan was kneeling by the large window at the far side of the sitting room, eyes closed, breathing regular. He looked calm, serene, his youthful face composed and his attire neat and crisp as ever. Qui-Gon found his apprentice’s fastidiousness curious, as Qui-Gon, while not exactly slovenly, was _relaxed_ about appearances, much to Dooku’s endless irritation. Strange that Obi-Wan would take after his grandmaster, even though they had spent so little time together. The three weeks on Laigen was the longest they had ever been in each other’s company, and the longest Qui-Gon had ever been away from Obi-Wan since his return to the order after Melida/Daan. 

Privately, he could admit that he had missed the young man immensely. His scattering of short, routine missions, and a spell of time in the Senate had been boring and, if he was really honest with himself, _lonely_. At twenty-three, Obi-Wan was no novice to the galaxy: his insight and perspective made for thoughtful, inspiring conversations. And his dry-wit humour always lightened Qui-Gon’s heart. Their last few years together had had plenty of challenges, but Obi-Wan’s competence and skill had meant that Qui-Gon more often than not felt like he had a mission partner rather than an apprentice. Their camaraderie and warmth and enjoyment of each other’s company was unique as far as master-padawan relationships went and unprecedented in Qui-Gon’s own experience. Though they had had a rocky start to their relationship, Qui-Gon had never felt more in tune with another living being than he had with Obi-Wan. Certainly, his apprenticeship with Dooku was like living on Hoth in comparison. Obi-Wan was _special_ to him in ways that he knew most Jedi would not understand. He knew the end of their time together approached and part of him dreaded it, even as another part of his was bursting with pride at the Knight Obi-Wan was becoming. 

His bright Light in the Force would not end here, on a distant Outer Rim backwater, dying for religious superstition. Qui-Gon wouldn’t allow it, even if he had to fight to his last breath to prevent it. 

Across the room, Obi-Wan’s eyes blinked open, bright blue in the sunlight. Qui-Gon felt his eyes sting and his heart twist when he saw the flickers of pain and relief cross his padawan’s features. He longed to sweep Obi-Wan into his arms and hold him tight, but such open, physical affection was not becoming of a Jedi Master and his fully grown apprentice, especially under the watchful eyes of his austere former Master.

Qui-Gon crossed the room swiftly as Obi-Wan rose gracefully to his feet. He could not keep the sorrow and regret from his eyes when he looked at Obi-Wan, who gave him a tight smile and flooded their training bond with remorse.

Obi-Wan bowed his head, his braid catching on his tunic. _I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t think. I acted on instinct. This is my fault. I’ve ruined the mission._

Qui-Gon sighed heavily and laid his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and then gently plucked the braid from the fold of his tunic. He let his deep affection for Obi-Wan colour his smile. He was glad for the training bond, he would not have been able to keep the tremble from his voice. _No, Obi-Wan. The situation is more complicated than that. You don’t deserve to face death for saving a life. We will fix this. I promise you._ He squeezed Obi-Wan’s bicep, hoping to reassure him.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly and squeezed his eyes shut. Qui-Gon could feel him fighting his fear, releasing it to the Force. His heart clenched at the slight tremor he felt under his hand.

So brave. Obi-Wan was so unrelentingly brave. Before he could stop himself, he brushed Obi-Wan’s pale cheek with his fingers. Obi-Wan’s face relaxed a fraction and he let out his breath. 

Behind them, Dooku cleared his throat. “If you’re quite finished with this maudlin display, padawans, I believe we have some planning to do.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both started at the sound. Qui-Gon felt himself blush and saw Obi-Wan look down in embarrassment. He tilted Obi-Wan’s face upwards with a light touch and smiled at him warmly. _We will fix this, padawan. You are not alone. Ignore Dooku. I will deal with him._

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and pressed his lips together as he closed his eyes. Qui-Gon could feel his fear and his shame about being afraid and his sadness at facing impending death without Qui-Gon by his side. _Master…I… wanted to see you, one last time._

At that, Qui-Gon felt his heart crack and fall, taking all the air in his lungs with it. With a choked gasp, he pulled Obi-Wan to him, wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tightly. He tucked Obi-Wan's head under his chin and stroked his spiked hair. Obi-Wan's sob was muffled by the edge of Qui-Gon’s robe and he could feel the tiniest pinpricks of heat where a few tears escaped. 

Qui-Gon barely heard Dooku’s exasperated sigh through the blood roaring in his ears as he fought for balance in the maelstrom of emotions engulfing him. He longed to march Obi-Wan straight back to the ship, lightsaber blazing at anyone who dared to challenge him. The Laigen might be warriors, but surely they were no match for three Jedi. And if Dooku wouldn’t help, then…then...he could stay on this force-forsaken hell-hole in the Outer Rim for all Qui-Gon could care. 

He felt Obi-Wan still in his arms. “Master?” he said quietly, pulling back just enough to look up at Qui-Gon. His blue eyes shone with worry that Qui-Gon would attempt something so reckless on his behalf. _Don’t try it, Master. You can’t. The Council..._

_I would leave the Order before seeing you killed_

_Don’t say that, Master. You can’t risk--_

_I most certainly can!_

_You can’t risk killing innocents to save me. I won’t let you!_ Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed as he stepped back, nearly out of Qui-Gon’s embrace.

Qui-Gon tightened his arms automatically, clutching at Obi-Wan’s elbows. _No. Padawan. I wouldn’t do that. Forgive me._ He bowed his head. _I didn’t mean to scare you._

Obi-Wan sighed in relief and slid back into Qui-Gon’s arms, hugging him around the waist and pressing his face into his chest. Qui-Gon kissed the top of his head lightly, briefly, just barely, so that Dooku wouldn’t see. 

Behind his shields, he acknowledged grimly to himself _I am lying. I would. The thought of losing Obi-Wan is unbearable. I will not. I cannot. We must find a way._

Dooku cleared his throat again, louder this time. “Qui-Gon Jinn!” he said sharply, in the same tone Qui-Gon remembered from his early teenage days. Usually a small animal or plant or esoteric volume was involved. He quashed a flicker of ancient fear and took a breath. He squeezed Obi-Wan tightly one more time, nodded and smiled an eye-crinkling smile before turning to face his fuming master.

“Yan Dooku?” Qui-Gon replied evenly, meeting Dooku’s gaze with both brows raised in silent challenge. 

Dooku gave an annoyed huff and waved his hand dismissively. “Hopeless. I don’t know why I bother,” he mumbled under his breath.

“That’s a good question, Master, though I’m afraid I don’t know the answer,” Qui-Gon retorted.

Dooku’s glare was scathing as he strode to the set of couches and a large wooden table scattered with datapads and the odd piece of flimsi. He sat down forcefully and plucked a tablet from the table and proceeded to glower at it.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s surprise through their training bond and suppressed a smile. _This is par for the course with us, Padawan. When it comes to attachment, he is orthodox, even by the Council’s standards. With any luck, this time he won’t file a complaint. But no matter if he does. I will weather it._

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were just settling onto the opposite couch when a knock came at the door. 

“Enter,” Dooku bellowed.

A tall, middle-aged woman with fair hair and a dark green dress entered the room. Dooku stood immediately. “Prime Minister,” he said, bowing. 

“Master Dooku, Padawan Kenobi,” she said, nodding. Her tone was formal, grave, but not unkind. “It is time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst express!!!!

The judicial chamber was massive, with high vaulted ceilings of blue-grey stone and brightly coloured windows depicting what Qui-Gon assumed were important figures from the Laigen’s history. Under different circumstances, he would have been admiring the craftsmanship of the ornamental details on the stone pillars, and curious about the undoubtedly profound iconography of the windows. But as he regarded the panel of richly robed judges on the raised dais across from him, he found he didn’t give a gundark’s ass about the planet’s history or culture. 

He shifted in his seat behind Obi-Wan, and felt a ripple of Dooku’s annoyance in the Force at his uncharacteristic fidgeting. It had already been three and a half hours of listening to the judges and royal officials read the laws from ancient, heavy tomes of nerf-skin. The prince, seated to the left with the king and queen in the royal viewing box, seemed, to his credit, full of regret and worry. The glances he cast Obi-Wan were both apologetic and determined. Qui-Gon estimated him to be a few years younger than Obi-Wan, but his presence in the Force suggested a steadiness and integrity that would have been well-becoming for a Jedi padawan. It wasn’t hard to imagine that over the last few weeks Obi-Wan and Niall had become friends. Obi-Wan liked to tease Qui-Gon about picking up “pathetic life forms,” but it was Obi-Wan, not Qui-Gon, who often left a mission with a promise of correspondence. How different Obi-Wan’s training was from Qui-Gon’s own. Dooku had expressly forbid Qui-Gon from making connections outside the Order, believing them to be unhealthy distractions. 

Would Obi-Wan have leaped to Niall’s rescue if they had not been friends? Qui-Gon couldn’t say for certain, but he knew Obi-Wan had never suffered the loss of life, especially wasteful loss of life, lightly. What a loss the young man would be to his society… no less the loss of Obi-Wan to the Jedi. Surely there was a way around this. Perhaps one of the dusty books contained a legal loophole they could exploit. The prince would certainly be a useful ally. 

He was about to begin composing a request for a recess when he realized the head judge—a grey-haired woman named Fodla who moved as if her spine were made of steel—had risen from her seat on the dais and was announcing that it was time for Obi-Wan to answer the charges. She gestured for Obi-Wan to rise. 

“Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, of the Jedi Order of the Republic, you have heard the charges against you. How do you plead?”

“According to the laws and customs of this world, I am guilty, your honour,” Obi-Wan spoke, his lilting Coruscanti accent ringing clear and steady in the echoing stone hall. 

Unflinching. He is unflinching, Qui-Gon thought, pride swelling in his chest. 

“Your honesty and grace does you credit, young man,” Fodla answered. “It is with regret that I sentence you to the trial of _enncae_. May the gods find you innocent.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. 

Qui-Gon’s heart was hammering in his chest. Surely that couldn't be it. There had to be another way to fight this.

“You will eat of the _iasc fir_ and the gods will decide your fate. Unless a member of your house chooses to bear the punishment for you.”

 _Wait?! What?_ Qui-Gon was on his feet before the judge had finished her sentence. 

“I will,” he heard himself say.

The Prime Minister was staring at him from the dias with concerned eyes and shaking her head.  
She stood and put out her hand to pause Qui-Gon. “Your honour, forgive me. I don’t believe Master Jinn knows that the alternative punishment—”

“Is death?” the judge replied coldly, with note of censure. She clearly did not take kindly to being interrupted. Qui-Gon found her tone and manner reminded him eerily of Dooku. “No, I don’t expect he does.” She fixed Qui-Gon in a stare.

“Because Padawan Kenobi is not legally an adult by Laigen laws, the punishment may be served by a senior member of his house, his father, or grandfather, or uncle. However, the debt demanded by the gods is higher. There would be no trial. You would be put to death.”

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s alarm spike through their training bond, but the young man didn’t turn to look at him. He took a deep breath and looked at his apprentice, wishing he could see his eyes. Would he die to ensure Obi-Wan’s life? Of course he would. And perhaps the Order would take the potential death of a master more seriously than the risk of a padawan. He tried to imagine Yoda or Mace Windu condoning the privileging of Laigen laws for the sake of a treaty if it meant his death. The Senate might even get involved and broker an extradition agreement. And if not, well, then Obi-Wan would be safe. He would contact Plo and see if he would complete Obi-Wan’s training. There was no way he was leaving Obi-Wan with Dooku.

He swallowed against the tightening in his throat, squared his shoulders and looked Judge Fodla in the eyes. “I understand,” he said evenly.

“Fool,” Dooku hissed under his breath beside him. In front of him, Obi-Wan’s alarm was rising to panic, but he still didn’t tremble. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting to speak, as he gripped the rail in front of him. 

“Padawan Kenobi, do you consent to this substitution?” Fodla asked, her eyes softening as she shifted her gaze to Obi-Wan.

 _Oh no. Obi-Wan let me do this_ , he practically yelled through their training bond. _As your Master, I_ —but Obi-Wan slammed his shields down.

“I. Do. Not,” Obi-Wan said firmly, anger clipping the ends of his words. 

_Obi-Wan _, Qui-Gon pleaded.__

_No! I won’t let you die for me, Master_ , Obi-Wan sent back, indignant. 

__“You do your Order credit, Padawan Kenobi. As does your master. We have heard much about Jedi austerity and coldness, but it is not hard to see that he bears a father’s love for you.”_ _

__Obi-Wan only bowed his head in response; his shoulders slumped in relief._ _

__Qui-Gon’s face burned from the open acknowledgement of his feelings about Obi-Wan. But he could not, would not deny it. He nodded, eyes stinging. Dooku’s presence chafed, but he could not focus on anything but the impending danger to his padawan—and quelling the protective impulse that would have him breaking Obi-Wan out of the courtroom._ _

__“Qui-Gon Jinn, as Padawan Kenobi’s legal guardian and head of his household, it falls to you to administer the test,” the judge continued._ _

__Obi-Wan started at that. His shields faltered for a second and Qui-Gon felt love and fear and disbelief, and a sharp protectiveness _for Qui-Gon_. _ _

___Oh, Obi-Wan._ _ _

__Qui-Gon blinked. He must have heard wrong. How could people who understood his love for Obi-Wan ask this of him?_ _

__“I’m sorry, your honour. May I request that you repeat your last statement?” Qui-Gon asked._ _

__“Do you not have a concept of family honour in your Republic?” Folda asked brusquely._ _

__“The concepts of family and honour are various throughout the galaxy, your honour. Please explain to us the Laigen custom,” Qui-Gon asked, digging his nails into his palms to keep his voice from quavering. _She cannot mean…._. The Force must have a cruel side, indeed for his bond with Obi-Wan to be recognized here, like _this_._ _

__“Padawan Kenobi’s transgression is a stain on his family honour. As he is an unmarried man and has not formed his own household, it falls to the head of his household to mete out justice, thereby safeguarding the family honour. Normally this would be his father. From what we understand of Jedi family structures, that would be you, as his master. Indeed, this is why we delayed the trial until your arrival.”_ _

__Shock gripped his nerves, blocking out the anger he knew lay underneath. What barbaric, nightmare planet had they found themselves on? These people expected fathers to poison their sons for the sake of honour? They expected _Qui-Gon_ to poison Obi-Wan? He had seen a lot of strange customs in his many decades of service to the Republic, but this challenged every fiber of his being. _ _

__Why did he feel like he had a bantha sitting on his chest? He coughed into his fist, trying to clear his airway. He inhaled in vain as his vision blurred. He felt his face go numb and he clenched his hands against the tingling in his fingers._ _

__Had Dooku known about this?_ _

__He glanced at his master, who was still sitting at his right. The older Jedi’s brows were furrowed and there were hints of surprise in his Force-presence. Qui-Gon found it grounding that even Dooku seemed disturbed by what the judge had said._ _

__“I’m sorry, your honour,” Qui-Gon choked out, finally finding his voice. “I don’t believe I understand. You want _me_ to give Obi-Wan the poison?”_ _

__“That’s correct.”_ _

__“Because he is unmarried?”_ _

__“Yes. If he were, then the punishment would fall to the head of his clan to administer. Under Laigen law, a man is not a full adult until he has taken a wife.”_ _

__“I see,” Qui-Gon lied. He most certainly did not._ _

__“Good. Do you assent?” Fodla asked._ _

__Qui-Gon could only stand there dumbly, blinking. He could feel Obi-Wan’s concern through their training bond. Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating._ _

__“Master Jinn, do you assent?” Fodla repeated. Still Qui-Gon could not find his voice. He felt frozen. Obi-Wan dying was not a future he was prepared to contemplate, but Obi-Wan dying by his hand was unthinkable._ _

__He felt a hand on his right shoulder for a fleeting moment, and it took him a few beats to register that it had been his master’s. Beside him, Dooku cleared his throat as he stood._ _

__“Your honour,” Dooku intoned, his voice smooth as silk, “there is a complication here, which perhaps I can explain. You see, Master Jinn may be like a father to Obi-Wan, but under Laigen law, he would not be considered an adult either. He is also unmarried.”_ _

__The judge narrowed her eyes, considering Dooku’s words. “This is most unusual,” she replied after a breath. “However, as there is no alternative, we must ask Master Jinn.”_ _

___This can’t be happening_ , Qui-Gon thought. _I cannot do it._ He looked down at his hands, as if contemplating their imminent betrayal. What would they look like covered in Obi-Wan’s blood?_ _

__“Your honour,” Dooku continued, “you may not know that I was once Master Jinn’s master, as he is now Padawan Kenobi’s.” He paused, letting the judge take in his words._ _

__Qui-Gon look at Dooku quizzically. What did that matter?_ _

__“Ah. I see,” the judge said, nodding. “Then the duty falls to you, as Master Jinn’s ‘father’ and the head of the household.”_ _

__“Your honour, Master Dooku is also unmarried. All Jedi are,” Qui-Gon protested. Maybe the technicality could buy them some more time._ _

__“This is very irregular. Nevertheless, it is clear that Master Dooku is the senior male family member, and as such it will be his duty to restore the household honour. Master Dooku, do you assent to administer the Trial of Innocence to Padawan Kenobi?” Impatience hurried the judge’s words._ _

__“I do,” Dooku answered._ _

__Qui-Gon felt a flare of anger and turned burning eyes on his former master._ _

__“Silence, padawan. It must be done,” Dooku whispered harshly. “You may accuse me of being cold-hearted, but even I have no wish to see you suffer in such a way. I may not be able to keep Obi-Wan from harm, but I can keep you from having to endure becoming the agent of his death.” A wave of sadness and regret emanated from Dooku in the Force._ _

__Qui-Gon felt his shame like punch in the gut. He had not expected Dooku to _care_. His master was not as heartless as he seemed most of the time. Qui-Gon bowed his head in humility, if not thanks, because how could he be grateful to the man about to poison Obi-Wan?_ _

__Then everything was happening very fast. Guards with silver breast-plates and bronze-tipped tall spears appeared to escort Obi-Wan and Dooku across the hall to stand before the king and queen. Obi-Wan cast him a fleeting look as he was lead away. Qui-Gon moved to follow them, but another guard blocked his way with his spear._ _

_I am here, padawan_ , Qui-Gon called, desperate to be at Obi-Wan’s side. 

__

__A priest in green robes and gilded oak-leaf crown brought forth an earthenware plate with a twitching squid. He handed the plate to Dooku, who held it while the priest chanted prayers above the dying animal and then stabbed it with a stone knife. Purple-black blood oozed from the pallid creature._ _

__Qui-Gon could feel Dooku’s disgust flickering in the Force._ _

__The priest sliced a piece of one of the tentacles and speared it with the knife. He retrieved the plate from Dooku and handed the Jedi the knife. Qui-Gon couldn’t catch his words, but it was clear he was instructing Dooku and Obi-Wan on what came next._ _

__Dooku and Obi-Wan turned to face each other. Obi-Wan sank to his knees and bowed his head. Dooku placed his left hand on Obi-Wan’s head and held the knife with the dripping squid tentacle in his right hand. He repeated the priest’s words and lowered the knife to within Obi-Wan’s reach._ _

__Qui-Gon caught the prince’s eyes at that moment and was gratified to see anger in his expression._ _

__The priest then turned to Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon watched his padawan dutifully speak the words that would seal his fate._ _

__“I, Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of Qui-Gon Jinn, son of Yan Dooku, place my life and soul in the hand of the _Danaans_. I accept the trial of the _iasc fir_.” Obi-Wan’s voice was steady and solemn. His hands did not tremble as he detached the tentacle piece from the knife. He did not waver as he placed it in his mouth. He did not shudder as he chewed and swallowed. _ _

__Obi-Wan Kenobi was a paragon of Jedi values, and Qui-Gon could not have been more proud or more horrified as he watched. What a knight his padawan had become.  
__

__It was done._ _

____

____

__Now there was nothing to do but wait—through what promised to be the longest and most painful night of Qui-Gon's life._ _


End file.
